Astrophil and Stella
Stella is sick, and in that sick-bed lies
sweetness, which breaths and pants as oft as she:
And grace, sick too, such fine conclusion tries,
That sickness brags itself best graced to be.
Beauty is sick, but sick in so fair guise,
That in that paleness beauty's white we see;
And joy, which is inseparate from those eyes,
Stella now learns (strange case) to weep in me.
Love moans thy pain, and like a faithful page,
As thy looks stir, runs up and down, to make
All folks pressed at thy will thy pain to assuage;
Nature with care sweats for her darling's sake,
Knowing worlds pass, ere she enough can find,
Of such heaven-stuff to clothe so heavenly mind.
Sir Philip Sidney
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